


What Do You Know of Goodness

by Brillador



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Oz: The Great and Powerful (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Wizard of Oz Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Oz The Great and Powerful AU. Rumple and his father Malcolm, two powerful wizards, are the caretakers of Oz after the death of its last ruler. When Emma, a woman from a land without magic, literally drops into Oz, Rumple thinks she’s the one destined to save them from the Wicked Witch terrorizing the realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Know of Goodness

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot about a year ago and posted it on Tumblr. And then totally forgot about it. I thought it might be worth bringing back for the hell of it.

**What Do You Know of Goodness**

* * *

“So, this prophesy–-just how specific is it?” Emma kept slowing down, distracted by the vibrant flowers that cropped up along the banks flanking the Yellow Brick Road. Or the animals who paused to greet her and her companion hello. Her eyes widened at whatever novelty caught her notice.

Rumplestiltskin, calling up a bit more patience, partly turned to her but continued walking. “It says a champion will descend into Oz in a cyclone, which you did, and that their name will carry the echo of the royal forebear Ozma.” Managing a shy smile, he gestured to her. “Ozma–Emma.”

She raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “I’m guessing people falling out of the sky isn’t a frequent occurrence here.”

“Exactly. So you see my point.” Rumple dropped back to stroll side-by-side with her–the prophesied Savior of Oz. His smile grew more confident. “You are the one foretold.”

“Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Emma said.

Rumple chuckled. “That’s the sort of thing a hero would say.”

“Ugh. I mean, I don’t know what qualifies someone as a ‘savior’, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make the cut. I’ve never done a heroic thing in my life.”

“But you will.” And he did believe that. There was something about her that convinced Rumplestiltskin, someone who usually played the skeptic, that Emma was capable of more than even she knew. She just exuded the essence of a champion. “And I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

She laughed shortly. “If you say so.”

By now they were approaching the last hill before the drop into the valley where the Emerald City resided. They passed the forks in the road that led to the Dark Forest and Chinatown; on the latter Rumple spotted a few figures, short and white and gleaming. They paused to wave or tip their hats. Rumple waved in kind. Emma continued to gawk.

“Are … are they made of porcelain?”

“There are no China people where you’re from?” Rumple asked, truly surprised.

She quickly looked straight ahead, as if she’d just entertained an embarrassing thought. “Not like those guys.”

All questions about her meaning were forgotten upon reaching the acme, where Emma enjoyed her first view of the Emerald City. In all of Oz there was no place like it. The sunshine made every tower glitter like a polished jewel.

“Wow,” she said.

“Welcome to your kingdom,” Rumple said.

“My kingdom?”

“It’s part of the prophesy.” His hand swept grandly over the scene. “After you save Oz, you shall sit on its throne as the new ruler.”

“Whoa.”

Emma clearly needed a moment to take this in. Rumple, now smiling widely, let her do so. Despite her ignorance and uncertainty, this was her destiny. He could sense she had the making of a good, just ruler. Not that he and his father hadn’t managed well these last ten years, but the throne did not interest him. Let someone suited to it bear its weighty responsibility. He and Malcolm would help her ease into the position, then go off to live a happy comfortable life together as the family they were supposed to be.

The young woman took a while to break the silence that waited for her reaction. With a clearing of her throat, she declared: “Not sure about all the green. But the yellow works for me.”

That earned an almost childish giggle from Rumplestiltskin. He offered his arm. “You’ll get used to the green. I prefer the yellow, too.”

As though appeased by this common ground, Emma grinned and hooked her hand through the crook of his elbow.

* * *

As a co-steward of the Emerald City, Rumplestiltskin had no trouble bringing Emma into its inner sanctum: the Grand Palace, guarded to the teeth and armed by walls within walls. The most intimidating obstacle was no doubt Grumpy, the herald who doubled as chaperon for the pair all the way to the throne room. He gave Emma the You-Better-Not-Be-Up-To-Anything glare, which was very similar to his Nobody-Messes-With-A-Munchkin glare. It didn’t matter how many times Rumple assured him Emma was harmless, that she was in fact a welcomed guest. Grumpy persisted in shadowing their every step.

“Watch yourself, sister,” he said in biding her farewell, for now, when she and Rumplestiltskin crossed into a room dripping with green satin and tapestries of Oz’s royal lineage, all in emerald hues.

Rumple could see by Emma’s squinting that her eyes were already in agony. Her gaze went to the first non-green thing it could find.

“Holy–” she cut herself short. “Is that the throne?”

“It is,” Rumple said. He joined her admiring the golden, intricately molded seat with a red plush cushion and jewels of various colors embedded in every contour.

“And I’m … supposed to sit on that?”

A voice called to them from above: “That remains to be seen.”

Rumple stopped just in time from jumping back. His teeth clenched, and he straightened. “It’s all right, Papa. The Savior has come.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard.”

The words chilled his bones. It was hardly possible that Malcolm should already know, were it not a frequent occurrence. He seemed to know everything before he should. “Then come down and greet her.”

“Don’t be daft, laddie!” Malcolm’s voice was now behind them.

Both Rumple and Emma wheeled around, breathless. They met a smiling, laughing man in a green doublet, a black cape and matching breeches. This green shade stood out from the emerald surrounding them. It was more natural, like the leaves of a palm tree. Emerald studs did embellish the fabric, as did the black velvet trimming. If anyone stuck out awkwardly, it was Rumple in his gold-orange shirt and waistcoat and brown trousers. Even Emma’s red leather jacket and other otherworldly garments better matched the decor, in an odd way.

“Forgive my rudeness, milady.” Malcolm sauntered forward, every inch Oz’s charismatic protector, and offered a gracious bow. “I am Malcolm, Wizard of the East and Protectorate of Oz.”

Emma bowed unsteadily. “I’m Emma. Of … Tallahassee. Does this mean I’m going to meet the Wizards of the North and South, too?”

With an unhappy sigh, Malcolm said, “I’m afraid not. The Wicked Witch has been assassinating Oz’s leaders. We are the only ones left.”

“You mean this person with the shadows and the flying baboons?”

“Glad to know my son has brought you up to speed.” The wizard’s smile belied a tension Rumple could read thanks to years of experience. Apparently something about Emma’s knowledge of the Wicked Witch displeased him. Rumple refrained from asking until they were alone to discuss matters more frankly.

“You’re his father? Really?” Emma glanced between the two men. “You don’t seem that far apart in age.”

Indeed, and this time Rumple was not to blame for her grasping this. But he lacked the courage to explain why this was so. Malcolm, on the other hand, giggled delightedly. “Facial cream and a youthful spirit, my dear. By the time Rumple turned eight, he was already a forty-year-old man.”

The passing grin from Rumple was empty of mirth.

Suddenly Malcolm clapped his hands and shouted, “GRUMPY!” When the scowling munchkin reappeared, his liege suggested that he take Emma on a tour of the palace. After all, if she was indeed the foreseen savior, she ought to get to know her new home.

Emma tried to interject. “I’m not sure I can–-”

“Come on, sister. You heard the boss.” Grumpy didn’t grab her. For all his dourness, he was too gentlemanly for that. His bulky stature was all he needed to edge her out the door.

The shutting door vibrated forbiddingly in Rumplestiltskin’s ears. It must have had something to do with the abrupt shift in Malcolm’s attitude. Amusement and charm evaporated; his ice-blue glare cut through the sunshine beaming through tall windows.

“You’re a bigger fool than I ever thought possible.”

Rumple’s shoulders dropped as he sighed. “She fits all the criteria for the prophesy.”

“Oh, hang the prophesy! Don’t you see anything right in front of you? What on earth makes you think she’s trustworthy?”

“Why wouldn’t she be? She just crashed out of the sky!”

Malcolm clenched his teeth, shut his eyes, then tapped his temple to calm down. “Let’s imagine, for just a moment, that someone else knows about the prophesy. Someone who might use it to make us think your lovely Emma is 'the promised one’. You can’t think of one person who would love to have that kind of advantage?”

Heat rose in Rumple's blood with each condescending inflection Malcolm lashed him with. Even so, he fought to maintain his composure. “She’s not working for the Wicked Witch, Papa.”

“You have no way of knowing that.” Malcolm grunted and turned away, then stopped. A chilling silence settled. He turned round. His eyes held uncharacteristic fear. “Wait a minute.”

“What?” Rumple’s breath hitch with fright.

“Maybe I’ve been the fool all along.” Malcolm stared at his son like he had suddenly become something else--something wholly repulsive. “Maybe there’s already a double agent in our midst.”

Rumple felt hot, then cold, then hot in the span of a few heartbeats. The implication stung him, frightened him, outraged him. “You can’t mean me! Why on earth would I side with the Witch? All I want is peace! If I side with anyone, it’s Emma. She can bring that peace. She’s a good person.”

Malcolm laughed harshly. “Oh, Rumple, what do you know of goodness? You may fool everyone and yourself with those simpering eyes, but deep down you’re as bad as they come. As wicked as the Witch herself.”

Rumplestiltskin’s teeth clacked together. “I am not WICKED!”

The fire inside him rose faster than he could stop it. Malcolm’s words summoned in a flash every fear, every snide remark, every dark feeling that had tried to convince him that what the man said was true. For years he had locked them away, determined to show he was better than that. But the emotional safeguards momentarily failed him. They channeled through his body, specifically into his right hand. Without his complete awareness, the hand shot forward and aimed a few degrees shy of Malcolm’s head. Flames condensed in a ball around his burning fingers, then leaped and grazed the Wizard of the East and obliterated a decorative vase behind him.

As soon as clay shattered and sizzled, the heat died down. Except in his hand, which continued smoldering. The clenched expression on Rumplestiltskin’s face collapsed with shock. He slowly flexed his hot fingers. They finally cooled, too. Rumple wanted to curl into himself and disappear.

Malcolm looked behind him, got an eyeful of the damage, then faced Rumple. If there was anger, he didn’t let it show. He merely dared to look … impressed.

“That temper really is wasted on you.”

The offending hand lowered. The soft brown eyes that just seconds ago sharped with deep rage flitted down. Rumplestiltskin outwardly appeared still; inside his soul, his sensitive heart faltered under the truth. He didn’t know what frightened him more: that he’d never have the strength to put his anger to effective use … or that he would.


End file.
